


Revealing Dark

by Angelic_Ascent



Category: Persona 5
Genre: Fix-It of Sorts, M/M, Post-Canon, Post-Game(s)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-02
Updated: 2018-06-02
Packaged: 2019-05-17 09:08:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,996
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14829407
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Angelic_Ascent/pseuds/Angelic_Ascent
Summary: Akira has moved back to his hometown, but of course things aren't quite the same -- least of all his new habit of sneaking out for hours at night. Written for the shuake zine "No More Lies."





	Revealing Dark

**Author's Note:**

> happy birthday goro! i wrote this several months ago for the shuake zine. i hope everyone who read it in the zine enjoyed it, and i hope everyone who is reading it for the first time now enjoys it too. feel free to interact with me @ twitter (consumingclaw) or tumblr (kiryuujoshua)

Against his head, the vibrations of Akira’s phone are earth-shatteringly loud. In an instant he swipes his fingers across the notification, turning off his alarm. It’s not even his actual alarm, but the pre-pre-alarm alarm, going off at 11:50PM, before the pre-alarm alarm at 11:55PM, before the actual alarm at midnight.

Not that he needs them, really. Akira has always been a night owl. But just in case. A precautionary.

Which is also something he’s never been. Akira has always been on the reckless side. 

But these sorts of emotions brought out weird sides of anyone. Or so he’d heard.

He shuts off the following alarms, and peers through the darkness of his bedroom. All was quiet and still.

Akira swings his legs out of bed and slips out of his sweatpants. He grabs the jeans laying on the floor, throwing them on with haste. Next comes his familiar gray hoodie. Then he goes back to his bed, pulling the curtain and opening the window. Gingerly, he pokes his head out -- the small, dark space between his house and the neighbor’s greets him. Once satisfied no one was around, he slides his legs out, and then the rest of himself, and shuts the window behind him.

He makes his way around his house with a practiced stealth, hiding from the view of the rest of the windows. Not that he thinks his parents are awake -- in theory, he could probably even go out the front door unnoticed. But this just made more sense, he tells himself, only putting a half effort into ignoring the nostalgic thrill of the sneak rising in his chest.

Of course in just a minute it’s over and he’s past his front gate and on the walkway. Thankfully his home side street is fairly quiet and rarely saw people out and about at this time of night -- people who might wonder about a teenage boy wandering the around so late every evening.

It only takes a few minutes for him to come out into a more crowded area, and with that comes the eclectic lights of a city at night. They’re much too bright for his tastes, like a show put on for an audience, a glaring white to hide what truly lay within; blinding lights that were a poor mask for a much more complex, interesting, and comfortable darkness.

He weaves through the crowd with ease. Their conversations and chit-chat are of little interest to him. Before, it had been fun -- there was always the hum of the Thieves’ and their activities, and if not them, than another person of interest. But he had, of course, not heard anyone speak of the Thieves for months. 

Or of that person. Even though he had, effectively, dropped off the face of the Earth. 

Like society did to anything, and like anyone had done to him in his life, they had taken their interest, used him, and then dropped him.

Even the Thieves themselves had done that. Akira knew they weren’t trying to be cold -- he knew it was out of sensitivity to himself. Fear of how it would make him feel. But something, anything, would have been better than just forgetting about him.

Akira wouldn’t do that.

He wouldn’t, he wouldn’t.

And somehow he knows he also couldn’t.

He turns the corner to, finally, come upon the subway station. The stairway down greets him with a glaring light. Akira walks right past it, and heads to the backside of the building.

Here, the darkness is such a contrast that most would probably be unable to navigate. But Akira can see the hidden, near undefinable shapes and lines. And most importantly, he can see the blue door at the end of the alley.

He walks to it with a brisk pace, and takes the shimmering blue key from his pocket. The door unlocks with a click and opens with a groan, and he steps inside.

The deep blue of the Velvet Room immediately sends a relaxing wave through his body. He knows it’s more of a Pavlovian response -- he knows the real reason he’s here is why he feels this way -- but he’ll call it the atmosphere.

“Hello, Trickster. I hope you’ve been well.”

Lavenza smiles at him. He just gives her a small nod. She goes back to flipping through the thick book, sitting at a chair next to the desk. As usual, Igor is nowhere in sight.

Akira knows -- he is no longer a “guest.” To put it in Igor’s words, his soul has been refined. There is no more practical use for him here.

Or so he thought, at first. 

After a few weeks of dull emptiness back in his home city, Akira had seen the door on his way home. He let himself in immediately -- the key hadn’t left his side since he got it from Lavenza. He didn’t think too hard about why it felt so wrong to be parted from it. But if he did, it would probably fall into why he had felt so compelled to open the door again in the first place.

Since that December day, all the cell doors had remained opened, giving the room a much more spacious feel. Other than that, it was the same as it had always been.

Except for, of course, the shimmering light that shone against the back wall of the cell opposite the one Akira had always occupied.

Akira walks to it, heading into the open cell and sitting next to the light. It’s rectangular and as big as a door, and a bright white. Yet his eyes adjust easily. It’s a warm, easy light.

He gently presses his hand to it. As usual, it’s warm not just to his vision but to touch as well.

From where his palm is pressed, the a shining wave ripples through the light. And then from there it fades as if vanishing.

But instead of the wall taking its place, Akira is left sitting across from Goro Akechi, their hands flat against each other.

Or they seem like they are. It’s more like a window -- Akechi’s surroundings similar yet different -- what seems to be a Velvet Room very much like Akira’s own, but always empty. 

He also can’t actually feel his hand against his.

“Hey,” Akira says.

“You really are dedicated. How many nights has this been in a row?”

Akira gives a little shrug. “When I say I’m going to do things, I like to keep my word.”

Akechi just looks down without a word.

“Would you rather I not come?” Akira asks.

“…That’s not it,” Akechi says after a moment. “Don’t you have other things to do?”

“I’m doing what I want with my night. It’s not like time really passes here, anyway.”

Still, Akechi refuses to meet his eyes. 

Akira knew this wouldn’t be so easy, from the moment he had first seen Akechi here a few days ago. As best they could figure out, when they met like this, Akechi was asleep in his… world, or place, or where ever he was. He insisted it was the afterlife.

Akira wasn’t sure he believed that.

Regardless, Akechi said he didn’t remember any of these things when he was awake, and conversely, while he was here with Akira, he couldn't tell him much about what he did when he was awake. He said all he remembered doing were everyday things. Waking up. Going to school. Coming home. Using his own words, “some kind of purgatory fit for someone like me.”

Akira didn’t press him for details, though.

But Akira did say he would be back. And he had come, every night since then. And they had talked about the end of December’s events, the aftermath, and Akira’s return to his home city.

Perhaps Akechi’s stronger reluctance than usual was because those topics were exhausted. Or perhaps he was simply at his limit.

“I just don’t see a point in you coming here,” Akechi says, finally, quietly. “You have better things to do than spend your time with a dead person.”

“You wouldn’t be here if you were dead,” Akira says.

He also thinks that if Akechi’s hand wasn’t at least a little reached out for him to touch, he wouldn’t be able to do this. But he keeps that to himself.

Akechi is quiet again and Akira watches him. His bangs mostly obscure his eyes, hair as soft and perfect as Akira remembers. He feels compelled to reach out and brush the strands from his face.

He’s actually not sure if he could. He hadn’t tried. It felt wrong. 

“I don’t want you here out of pity,” Akechi says, fingers curling a bit into his palm. “That… would make me sick.”

Akira is quiet a moment. “The Velvet Room is here for a reason. I don’t think it’s a place I could just come to for nothing.” He pauses. And then continues, “I just want to see you. It’s not out of pity.”

“So then what?” Akechi says, still not meeting his eyes. “You’re lonely, separated from your precious friends?”

“I’m not separated from all my friends. You’re here.”

He sees Akechi’s hand clench against his lap so hard his knuckles go white. The silence between them stretches.

“I never got the chance to tell you this, but I had the most fun when you were on my team, you know,” Akira says eventually.

Finally, Akechi looks at him -- exasperatedly so, but looking at him nonetheless. “I was going to kill you. And you knew this.”

“I did. But that didn’t really matter.” He pauses. “A mask doesn’t cover someone’s whole body.”

Akechi says nothing.

“And you were the only one that kept up with me in full, too,” Akira continues. “You must have noticed that.” 

Akechi is still quiet.

“But what I liked best, actually, was when you were at Leblanc when I got home.”

Akechi looks back down at his lap.

“I don’t want to be presumptuous,” he says, a bit quieter, “but… I always thought you were a little more honest then.”

Silence.

“I lied to you. A lot,” Akechi finally says. “Even at those times.”

Akira nods, slowly. For the next few moments, he just watches Akechi, whose breaths are so shallow he seems nearly completely still.

“The coffee you gave me… was always mediocre.”

The corner of Akira’s lips curve up ever so slightly. “I’ll work on that, then.” He tilts his head a little, trying to get a better view of Akechi’s eyes beneath his bangs. “As long as you test it to tell me what’s wrong with it.”

He thinks he sees Akechi bite his lip. “And you always… made me talk about myself. I started coming there for information on you, but…”

Akira doesn’t recall ever outright asking for any personal information from Akechi. But he doesn’t plan on saying that. He knows Akechi knows that, anyway.

This silence is particularly long. But it’s not an oppressive weight around them.

“Kurusu-kun?”

“Mm?”

“How… was your day?”

Akechi looks up at him. His expression is unreadable. The blue of the Velvet Room mixes a softness into the crimson of his eyes. Though more than anything, Akira sees his own reflection in them -- rather, he sees Akechi’s image of him.

“I’ll tell you,” Akira says, “if you stop calling me Kurusu. You dropped it when you joined the Thieves, so don’t go back to it.”

Akechi’s lips curl up a little. Just a little.

“Fine, then.”

“Well,” Akira says, “I spent my day looking forward to seeing a friend of mine named Akechi.”

“Goro.”

“Hm?”

“Goro is fine.”

Akira smiles at him. Goro Akechi returns it in full.

He isn’t sure exactly where this will all go. Goro’s hand is still raised, held to his own. Akira is ready to take it, to pull, to help him out. When Goro is ready. When they are ready. When it becomes time.


End file.
